


The Bear of Kaedwen Valley

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cannon Typical Violence, Injury, Kaedwen Valley, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Random & Short, Swordplay, giant bear, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: Winters at Kaer Morhen are long, an occasional monster breaks up the monotony - and this one you can eat.





	The Bear of Kaedwen Valley

Geralt smelled the dank wet fur and blood long before he heard the bear shuffling and grunting through the deep shadows of the forest. Normally he’d leave it be, but this one had been dragging villagers away from their cookfires and eating them. Once a bear got a taste for human, they lost their fear and always returned for more.

Snow blanketed the Blue mountains as the true heart of winter approached. As much as Geralt wanted to stay tucked up inside Kaer Morhen, the surrounding villages down in the valley below needed help on occasion. Whoever ended up at the castle for the winter would take turns coming to their aid and in return get valuable supplies to ease the discomfort of winter.

The closer Geralt came to his quarry, the more the smell of blood hung thick in the air. This was no ordinary bear. The hulking shoulders spanned wider than Geralt’s outstretched arms. Even on all fours, its shaggy head rose a full foot taller than the witcher. If the beast reared, it would be well over twelve feet tall.

Ahead, through the dense pine forest, he spotted a wide clearing and traveled in a wide circle toward it. The one thing he didn’t want to deal with during the fight was being pinned between an angry charging bear and a stout tree. He well knew that it was an easy way to break a rib, or worse, get impaled.

“Hey Bear!” he yelled into the forest. “Come fight me before I freeze my balls off!”

Geralt’s taunt bounced off the quiet of the forest, startling the family of nesting finches out of a nearby pine. They scolded him as they shot toward the grey sky. The beastly bear’s massive head lifted, dropping what looked like a femur and turned toward the noise.

“Yeah, you,” Geralt continued, steel sword held ready to his side. “Want a snack? I’m sure I’m delicious. Melitele knows enough other monsters have tried to eat me.” The sooner he could finish up this fight, the sooner he could be in front of a nice warm fire and out of this cursed cold.

The bear sniffed the air and pawed at the reddened snow at its feet before turning back to its prize. Uninterested. With a meal already secured it didn’t need to hunt and in the bear’s eyes, Geralt didn’t seem like much of a threat. Little did it know.

He selected an apple sized rock and hefted it in his gloved palm. Perfect. “Come on, you walking rug, turn your head.”

As if on cue, the bear grunted and swiveled his head up again. This time, Geralt flung the rock, striking the animal on its sensitive ear. It roared and reared up, shaking its head. Its muscles bunched beneath its shaggy thick coat and it lunged for Geralt.

Geralt balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting for the perfect moment to dodge the bear’s initial lunging attack. If he stepped aside too soon, the bear would have time to adjust, too late and the bear would plow straight into him, slashing claws and all.

The bear shifted its balance midstride, readying to dive at Geralt with dagger long claws. Geralt stood his ground, waiting for the bear to leap. As the front legs left the ground, Geralt launched himself to the side with his own leaping pirouette, leaning his weight into the upwards swing of his steel sword.

The sword struck true, sliding deeply into the thick furred flesh under the bear’s front limb. Using the momentum gained from the strike, Geralt spun the blade around in a quick moulinette and landed two more on the beast’s shoulder and neck. The bear roared, the sound shaking snow from the branches overhead, and spun around with impressive speed.

The bear’s slashing claw brushed the ringmail covering Geralt’s stomach as he jumped back. A few inches closer and it would have torn him open. Geralt slashed at the claws and front limbs as he fought to keep space between the two of them. This close, he could see the anger in the bear’s eyes and the desperate need to kill.

The villagers were right, this bear was a man-eater. It would serve the world better as a source of food and fur than being allowed to remain alive.

Geralt adjusted his grip on his sword before rushing the bear with another series of choreographed slashes; downstroke, upstroke at an angle, downstroke with muscle behind it, use resulting momentum to spin the blade around into a third downward stroke - something he’d practiced under Vesemir’s watchful eye thousands of times until he could do the sequence lightning fast and with deadly precision.

Each slash landed, each cut bit deep. The bear reeled back, lurching away from the windmill of flashing cuts. An animal this size needed to be worn down before striking the killing blow. It moved slower now, having spent most of its energy on that initial charge. Its breaths came in shallow pants. Geralt was willing to bet the animal had never been hunted before.

Any good hunter knows this is when their quarry is most dangerous. Desperation makes them unpredictable. The thick scar crossing Geralt’s neck was a direct result of him believing his target, a striga, had stopped fighting.

The bear roared, launching into its own frenzy of slashes with those deadly sharp claws. Geralt parried the first with the side of his blade, but the second caught him on the thigh, tearing through the leather and leaving four ragged wounds in the skin beneath. Geralt jumped back out of reach, preventing the last slash from landing.

In the heat of the fight, he didn’t feel anything more than the sting and burn and he pushed it to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. The bear, smelling blood, reared up with a snarl, towering over Geralt.

Geralt dove to the right, narrowly avoiding being crushed as the bear brought its full weight down. The impact shook the ground beneath his feet and brought down another shower of snow from the pine branches above.

The leaden drag of fatigue tugged at Geralt, urging him to slow, making him breathe harder. This was the moment that separated the weak from the strong. If his endless years of walking the path taught him anything, it was that he could trust his strength would see him through the toughest battles. If he dug in, he could always find enough to survive.

The bear, like all wild things, would do the same. Witchers and predators don’t go down quietly. They fight until they can no longer stand and then they keep fighting until they can no longer lift their swords. It turned to face him, broad claws dragging across the churned up snow.

Geralt circled out of its view, keeping himself a step outside the range of those swiping claws, and forcing the bear to turn and exposing its flank on the other side. He swept in on the bear’s blind side with another series of blows, successfully landing three more before retreating as the bear whipped around to slash at him again.

With a groan, the bear stumbled. One front leg gave out, sending it down into the snow. Geralt stepped back. Attacking now wouldn’t speed up the process, it would only cause the beast more pain. If he waited, the beast would continue to bleed and weaken enough for Geralt to approach and strike a final humane killing blow.

The adrenaline of the fight faded as Geralt waited for the wounded bear to succumb. The place where the bear raked his thigh hurt enough to where he didn’t want to put weight on his leg. His shoulders ached from the grueling workout they’d just received. While he welcomed the ache of exertion, his thigh would need attention sooner than later.

The bear’s breathing quieted. Its eyes turned glassy and distant. Geralt approached from behind its head, each step silent and measured. He set the point of his sword beneath the bone of the bear’s shoulder blade, between the fourth and fifth ribs, and thrust it in at an angle, directly into its heart.

The bear stiffened briefly before releasing its final breath and falling still.

Geralt drank down a swallow potion and lowered himself down to sit leaning against the still warm carcass to give the potion a few minutes to begin working. It would stop the bleeding and allow him to align the edges of the wound and bind it.

He took no pride in the victory. A beautiful animal such as this had a right to live, just as he did. It was a shame it had become a man-killer, a shame that it ventured out of the safety of the deep woods. It would still serve a good purpose, even after Geralt took his share, there was enough meat there keep the small village from starving when the winter grew long.

As for him, he’d return to Kaer Morhen until the path called again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos feed the writer!  
Thanks for reading :)


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